


Blue Jay Way

by DustOnBothSides



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asocial Armitage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fragile Ben, Gen, Loneliness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soft Kylux, Sort Of, Traumatic Experiences, Winter, benarmie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 05:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20483468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustOnBothSides/pseuds/DustOnBothSides
Summary: The events of one winter night when the shy and withdrawn customer Ben finally gathers his courage and talks to the stand-offish barista Hux. It turns out that no matter how different the two of them are, they have one Thing in common.





	Blue Jay Way

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from my favourite Beatles song.

It was getting late, though one couldn’t tell that by looking from the window. After a certain hour the view stopped changing, sky retaining the same muddy purplish colour tinted with orange and brown until the morning. The only change was the presence or absence of snow. 

Armitage tried not to yawn as he brewed himself an espresso. Winter sky always made him a little bit sleepy. His shift was approaching its end. It made him feel… absolutely nothing, in fact. He’d clean up, lock the place, and head home. His other co-workers were already gone. The two sandwich chefs have left hours ago, and two other waiters skulked away, half-heartedly citing excuses neither of them thought he’d believe. Because whatever. There was just a handful of guests remaining, and he could do without the annoying chatter during floor-mopping or coffee machine cleaning. 

One by one the late guests disappeared, leaving only one kid behind. That one kid.

Armitage kept glancing at him every now and then. 

He was at the very back of the café, sketching something in a notepad. A gloomy-looking kid in an oversized hoodie. His school backpack occupied the other seat as it always did. This was one of the regulars, and Armitage had never seen him enter the store with anyone else. At first he had taken him for a trouble-maker due to the tell-tale bruises on his knuckles and the occasional scrape on his face, but the kid never did anything but sketch or read.

He had visited the café before, but recently his visits became much more frequent. And he changed. Even Armitage, who had little to no interest in people, noticed as much. The bruises and cuts disappeared, but the kid got somehow paler and more subdued than ever before. While he used to have the occasional smile or few sentences for the waitresses before, he now just stared at the table or his hands. Armitage suspected there was something going on in the kid’s life, but it was none of his business. Besides, it wasn’t like _his own_ life was without hitches. 

But that evening…

Armitage glanced at the clock. Nine forty-five. Fifteen minutes till closing time. And the kid still sat there, sipping at his umpteenth americano. 

He heaved a mental sigh, waited another five minutes, and then went over to the kid’s table. 

“Excuse me, sir.”

The kid looked up. His eyes, sunken in shadow, seemed pitch black. Unnerving. 

“We’re closing in ten minutes.”

The kid flinched as if Armitage just threatened him with bodily harm. 

“…uh… right.” Came a mumbled answer. 

“Right.” Armitage repeated awkwardly. He was never one for conversations. 

He returned behind the counter and one by one switched the machines into cleaning mode. He tried not to think of his troublesome guest and the contrast between his matted, unwashed hair, and how clean and expensive his jeans and boots looked. He had other things to worry about. His bills, selling his photos, keeping father’s cronies out of his life, traffic collapsing under all that snow… 

It was five past ten when he turned around - and nearly jumped out of his skin. 

The kid was right there, standing by the counter. 

Armitage wasn’t quite sure how to react, but the kid spoke first. 

“Uhm… I… can you… can you come back home with me, please?”

Armitage blinked. 

“Excuse me?”

“I… I can pay you.” 

Armitage looked the kid with his nice shoes and limp, greasy hair up and down. The boy fidgeted. His eyes kept darting up at Armitage only to return to the counter. He was a picture of nervousness. 

“Pay me? For what? For coming home with you?” Armitage cocked his head to the side. 

This was ridiculous. 

“Yes. Yes. I… uh… I’m scared.” He all but whispered.

“Don’t you have anyone to pick you up?” Armitage asked, feeling somewhat silly. This kid looked seventeen, eighteen years old, but that question was more suited for a boy much younger. To be fair, the kid kind of _did_ look like a five year old lost in a mall. 

“No. I… they are abroad. My parents that is. The others too. The house is empty. And… uhm… I’m not a criminal, I swear. And I can really pay you. Like. A hundred bucks.”

It seemed that kid was not joking after all. 

“Why me?” he asked, stopping himself before he could add: _Don’t you have any friends? _No matter how deep his flaws were, not even he was that evil. 

“Because you… you look as if you’re…uhm… as if you’re not scared easily.”

Armitage sighed. Hundred bucks were no small amount to him, and he could get them just for walking some spoiled rich kid back home. This much money could pay for several sessions of a nice massage that could relieve his chronically stiff, aching back, or a new winter jacket which could replace his current one with its worn, threadbare sleeves. Plus, he carried a pepper spray in his pocket, so if the kid tried to lure him someplace, he’d get a nice face-full of capsaicin. 

“Right. Very well. Just… sit down. I still need to lock the place up.”

The kid gave him a look that was borderline _tearful_, but instead of saying anything, he just nodded and went to sit back at his table. 

Armitage pulled the shutter down and locked the door. He finished cleaning the nozzles of all coffee makers, took out the bins, and swept and mopped the floor. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling he had many times before - that he knew the kid from somewhere, that is. Well, though the city was big, bumping into someone repeatedly was not impossible. On the campus or in the pool… well, probably not the pool. That kid’s build being what it was, he would’ve remembered such encounter. After all, not even oversized hoodies could hide broad shoulders and a powerful torso. In light of that, seeing that kid scared, while he himself, narrow and lean, was labelled fearless bordered on funny. Except the kid didn’t seem to be in a mood for a chuckle. 

Finally he told him to follow and switched the lights off. The boy jumped a little at that. Was _the dark_ what he was scared of? He decided to ask, but only later. 

They left the mall along with some other late-night employees, and Armitage had his guest lead the way. 

It was snowing. 

They reached the station at quarter to eleven. It was becoming clear he wouldn’t be able to catch the last bus for his way back, and he idly wondered whether to charge the kid extra for taxi. He decided he’d decide once he’d see the kid’s place. 

The bus arrived before too soon. Both Armitage and the kid got in, slid their commuter cards over the reader, and the barista followed his customer to the very back. About a dozen other people joined them. Armitage knew most from the mall, though he had never spoken with even a single one of them. He wasn’t good with people. _It didn’t pay_ to be surrounded by people. Unless those people paid you for it, of course. 

As the bus left the city centre behind, one by one the other passengers got out on their respective stops, until just the two of them were left. Armitage kept throwing furtive glances at the boy. He was waiting for him to show any signs of being _unsavoury_. If he’d pull out a cell phone to message someone or anything like that, Armitage was prepared to leave the bus, but the kid just stared at the hands folded in his lap. 

Terminal station arrived, and the two of them got out. 

The district they found themselves in was of the nicer ones, though it had seen better days. Many of its villas were clearly abandoned, and some of the neighbours had decided that the higher the walls enclosing their parcels were the better. 

_It didn’t used to be like this back then_, Armitage thought to himself and realised he knew the place. 

Finally he decided to ask. 

“Excuse me, but have we met before?”

The kid flashed him a quick look, though it was hard to read his expression, given how cocooned he was in his jacket and scarves. 

“I… uhm… I wasn’t sure whether you’d remember me. I wasn’t sure whether it’s you in the first place. You’re… uh… Hux, right? Armie Hux?”

Armitage felt blood rushing into his cheeks. It had been _years_ since anyone called him that. 

“Yes. _Armitage_ Hux.”

“I, uh, I’m Ben Solo-Organa. We used to be neighbours. You’d sometimes mow our lawn.”

Now Armitage remembered. He remembered that cheeky boy who had romped around with his friends and laughed like he didn’t have a care in the world, like the world was one big adventure. There would always be a band-aid somewhere on his body - knees, elbows, nose - yet he never saw the boy cry. 

It was hard to believe a child that happy would grow up to be so withdrawn. His own childhood wasn’t particularly good, and things got even worse when his family had to move out of this district into a smaller apartment in a shabbier part of the town. 

“Yes. I remember you. Your mother would always serve me elderflower lemonade.”

Ben nodded but didn’t comment any further. 

Soon they arrived at a large house, which was submerged in darkness. Armitage noticed Ben’s feet started to drag a little. And when he took his keys out to unlock the front gate, they fell from his fingers into the snow.

“Your post box.” Armitage said. 

“What?” Ben blurted out and his keys fell a second time. 

“It’s full. And it’s snowing.”

“Oh. Uhm… yes. Yes, it’s snowing.” He muttered and pulled the thick bundle of post out of the box, stuffing it unceremoniously under his arm without sparing it a single look. 

He then unlocked the gate, and once both of them passed through it, he re-locked it once more. With a quick look darting on either end of the road, Armitage noticed. 

The house, which used to be a cheerful, unassuming little place, had gotten more ominous over the years. 

There were several new additions - the ground-floor windows were barred, and Armitage noticed discreet security cameras affixed to the walls or trees every few yards. The door he remembered as being constantly open, with a long bead curtain billowing gently in the wind, was replaced with a sturdier one, locked with a key _and_ a keypad. 

He raised an eyebrow at all the security, but Ben didn’t notice, his eyes steadily glued to the ground. He entered the passcode without looking, going by touch alone. There was something _seriously_ wrong with that kid. 

Ben stepped inside the house and turned the lights on. He was unnaturally hunched. It almost appeared as if he expected a blow. He turned around, still staring at the floor, while Armitage stood on the veranda. It was agreed that Armitage would walk him home. Now was the time for the payment, and maybe, if he was quick enough, he could catch the last bus home. 

Armitage pressed his lips together. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have some coffee, would you?” he asked as naturally as possible. 

Ben perked immediately up. 

“I have Colombian beans here, Ethiopian, Belgian praline scented Arabica, decaf...”

“Right.”

“You… uh… don’t mind staying?”

“No, not particularly. There’s no one waiting for me, and besides - it’s snowing. The last bus might be called off.”

“Yes, that’s pretty likely. I’ve heard these things happen all over the city this winter. And we’re uphill here, so sometimes the buses just can’t make the climb. And the dispatchers count on the fact that people have cars here, so they don’t feel too bad when they call a bus off.”

Armitage nodded and stepped inside. 

Ben took his jacket, and while Armitage was busy unlacing his boots, he rushed from room to room, turning the lights on wherever he went. Then he moved into the kitchen and Armitage followed him. 

“What kind of coffee would you like, Armie?”

“Colombian, please. I don’t like Ethiopian too much. Too acidic for me… also, it’s _Armitage_.”

“Right. Sorry; Armitage. I just-“

The ginger looked at his host just in time to see him jump a little and the cup to slip out of his hands. It bounced off the kitchen counter, fell on the floor and shattered. For a split of second Ben seemed stiff like a statue. Then he looked sheepishly in Armitage’s direction, though his eyes didn’t _quite_ make it that far, and grabbed a dustpan. 

Armitage took mercy on him. 

“I’ll make the coffee. Your hands are probably still stiff from the cold. Besides, I have more experience in this regard.”

Ben just nodded. He finished cleaning up the shards and moved into the living room, where he put some music on. From the way he dressed and looked, Armitage expected him to listen to grunge or trash metal, but the music that began to play was a pleasant, old time-y jazz. With Helen Merrill singing. 

He, in the meanwhile, filled both mugs and shuffled through the cupboards until he found a bottle of brandy. Usually he wouldn’t be so brazen as to go through a virtual stranger’s kitchen, but given how weird this evening already was, some extra measures were called for. 

His first instinct as he left the kitchen was to switch the lights off. Heavens knew he saved electricity whenever possible. But considering the mental state of his host, it probably wouldn’t be wise to do so, and so he just frowned. 

He wasn’t prepared to mention it, but back then, when he saw Ben break the cup, he had also noticed something else. Something in the window. Some… it was hard to describe. A movement. Yes, it was a movement of some kind, but he couldn’t tell whether it was a person, a random animal, or just a trick of the light - perhaps the reflection of a passing car. It was there just for a split of a second, and then it was gone. He narrowed his eyes. It might’ve been a million different things, but perhaps-… 

He joined Ben in the living room. 

His host was sitting in an armchair. He had taken his hoodie off and now wore a red and black flannel shirt with every single button fastened. As if he was hiding something underneath. Armitage wasn’t sure what the deal was. He had seen plenty of cutters, some of which did not even bother to hide their scars. Yet Ben kept tugging at the cuffs of his sleeves, as if trying to make sure they won’t show anything. And he was also noticeably trying _not_ to look at the huge window on the other side of the room, which was hidden behind heavy drapes the colour of burgundy wine. A fleeting memory surfaced on Armitage’s mind. Ben as a seven-years-old, being scolded by his mother for breaking the very same window. He remembered the kid had endured the scolding while stubbornly looking at his feet, muttering how the rocket was _not supposed_ to fly that way. 

He put both coffees on a low table and sat down on the sofa. 

“When is your mother returning?” he asked, finding the sound of his voice strange. Was he really thing to initiate light conversation with another human being? Him, who never said more than _good morning_ unless he had to? Strange. 

“I’m not sure. Not for a while.” 

“And your father?”

“Him and mom divorced. He lives in… he lives elsewhere… even has a new kid. A girl…” Ben said with a hint of bitterness. 

“And your uncle?” Armitage asked, remembering that kind-eyed man who’d often visit Mrs. Solo-Organa. 

This time Ben offered no answer, but the way he clenched his fists was expressive enough for his guest to draw conclusions.

It was strange. 

He felt strange. 

It was as if he was being transported to earlier years, yet at the same time everything was different. The district began to show first stages of decay. It wasn’t just the abandoned villas. On the way from the bus he had also noticed overturned trash bins and the occasional graffiti on the wall. As if to counter that, this house was cleaner and more streamlined than ever before, yet _sterility_ was the word that came in mind rather than _neatness_. And then there was Ben. Ben, the sad, withdrawn kid. 

“…things really changed…” he heaved a sigh and noticed how Ben’s hands twitched. The kid looked up, his eyes dull. 

“Changed?” he repeated in a flat tone. 

“The neighbourhood.”

Ben looked around even though each and every window was covered, then glanced at his guest, then dropped his eyes to the mug in front of him. Armitage noticed the faintest ghost of a blush emerging on his cheeks. 

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. The neighbourhood changed. Funny. I never really noticed. But now that you point it out… yes. You’re right.”

Armitage realised the kid was close to tears. 

“Ben. Did something happen?”

Ben’s breath hitched and something dangerously close to a moan or a sob escaped his lips. Embarrassment painted his cheeks a deeper colour. He gave the window another cursory look, as if making sure the drape was still pulled close, and took a sip from his coffee. His eyes bulged a little and he tried to hide his cough. Armitage was aware of the look he gave him, but did not reciprocate. 

It was starting to come together. All of it. He just needed to make sure. 

Putting the mug down, he strode over to the window. Ben made a choked noise. He jumped up and accidentally kicked the table, knocking his mug over so it spilled coffee all over the beige carpet. 

Armitage took both halves of the drape and tore them open.

Black and velvety, with million lights like cold, accusing eyes, but also dirty purple and yellowish, akin to lonesome nights in the dead of the winter. The apparition floated there, right behind the window. It swirled and billowed, ruffled and uncurled, like a sheet of fabric, like a torn-off sail suspended in mid-air. Its creases occasionally rose up to touch the glass, resembling atrophied fingers. The myriad of light-eyes followed Armitage, but he paid them no heed. Instead he turned around to gaze at the frightened man. 

Ben was on the floor behind the sofa, pressed against the wall. His face was ashen, lips bloodless. Bloodless and quivering. His eyes slowly travelled over to Armitage, as if it cost him an incredible effort to do so. His pupils were but a pair of tiny specks. It was sad, really. And unpleasant. It reminded Armitage of things he would’ve been happier not recalling. 

Armitage turned away from the petrified kid and glared at the being. 

A million lamp-like eyes focused on him. 

“Beat it.” He growled and, to Ben’s incredulous wonder, it really _did_. Well, at least it shrunk back a yard or two. 

“H-how… what…wh-what…” Ben stuttered.

Armitage heaved a sigh, left the window and returned to sit on the sofa. He pushed his mug in front of the armchair. 

“Sit down. Drink it. And don’t worry about that thing. It can’t get you unless you invite it in and surrender yourself to it.”

When Ben returned to his place, his hands were trembling. 

“H-how do you… no one has ever seen it. No one believed. I thought no one knew. Or-“

“What did you do, Ben? Was it in a fight? An accident?” Armitage asked, and his host looked like he was about to drop the mug. He put it on the table with a clang and turned his gaze to the carpet. 

“I… we were returning back to the school. That was after the winter break. Uncle and I, and two of my classmates. Uncle was driving. It was snowing that day. Snowing so much…”

He took a sip of the coffee. His entire being seemed to deflate with the following sigh. 

“I… was being a brat. Had another fight with ma because of something stupid. The drive was long. It was already dark. Eventually uncle’s patience ran out. For the first time ever. He turned to me for a split of second and… suddenly there was a deer. We hit it. Uncle tried to swerve. The car hit the beginning of a barrier. It launched us up in the air. Landed upside down. The deer was still stuck there. I smelled petrol and blood. Couldn’t get away. The deer kept snapping its teeth at me. I couldn’t get out. Was stuck. The deer kept snapping its teeth at me and it screamed. It screamed so horribly.”

Ben paused to drink more of the coffee. His hands were shaking badly, and though he wasn’t crying, his eyes were watery. 

“Both of my classmates wound up dead. Uncle is in a coma. I’ve spent a couple of months in an institution. Could hear the screams of the deer each night. And the thing, the thing… eventually, I lied about seeing it, and they let me out. And the thing keeps coming closer. This is the first time I’ve ever seen it back away.” 

“Have you realised what the thing is by now?” Armitage asked, which earned him an empty, tired look. 

“I thought of a million things. But I guess it all comes down to the fact that this is what I get.”

Armitage smiled wryly. 

“That’s up to debate.”

“And you? Why do you see it?”

He leaned back, looked up at the ceiling, and then at the world outside the window. No, not at the apparition, but at the other houses, at their lights shining through the muddy darkness of a city night. 

“Do you remember when my family moved out?”

“…not very well.”

“Of course. You were still a little kid back then. Well, we moved because mother left father. We had to move to a smaller apartment. Dingy as hell. Father’s occasional drink became a problem. We were low on money, but that didn’t stop him from hitting the bar every other night and paying drinks for every skank he found there. He racked up some serious debts. Took his anger out on me. One night he returned wasted as ever. Started his usual routine. I pushed him away. I thought he’d punish me for that, but… he didn’t. He fell down the stairs. Cracked his god-damned head open. I was probably in shock or something, because I couldn’t stop staring at the blood pouring out. When I finally realised I should call 911, it was already too late. He died en route to the hospital. Funny, how his friends hated me, but I didn’t even go to the juvie. It was judged as self-defence. And since then I started seeing _it_. But I didn’t go around, telling people, because I already knew. No one would believe me. They never did before, so why would they now?”

“But… but it…” Ben mumbled weakly. 

As strange as it was, he seemed to have calmed down somewhat. 

Armitage strode over to the window, stood with his back turned to it and rapped his knuckles against the glass. 

“Look here, Ben. It can hurt you, I guess, but only you hand it its weapons.”

He then spun around to face the spectre. 

“Back off. Worthless thing. You have no power here. I am not your puppet to dance to your tune. Go find some other shmuck to feed on.”

And the apparition shrank back even further. It left the yard, floated across the street and passed through the wall on the other side. Its topmost part was still jutting out, as if it _wanted_ to be seen. 

Armitage sat down on the carpet. 

“See? You need to toughen up, Ben.”

To his surprise, Ben got up and came to sit next to him. The bigger surprise was that he put his head on Armitage’s shoulder, and the biggest surprise of them all - Armitage didn’t mind. 

“It will never go away, right?”

“I suppose. But you learn to live with it. Accept it. And use it.”

“Use it?”

“Aren’t you a painter? You have your personal little revelation right there. An otherworldly apparition unexplainable by scientific means. Get inspired. Can other people in our position see it? I don’t know. Truth to be told, I’ve never cared.” 

“And what about now?” Ben asked with a weak voice. 

“…I wonder.”

He said nothing at first and only huddled closer to Armitage, who found himself enjoying the warmth, strangely enough. The thing out there seemed more unimportant than ever before. 

“I-… it gets lonely in here. All by myself. Could you visit me every now and then?” 

“Sure. We could grab some take-out and watch movies or something…”

Armitage slunk his arm around Ben’s shoulders. The thing in the distance now gained the shade of a late evening sky or fresh bruises, its muddy purple almost luminous. Snowflakes began to swirl across the view much more thickly than before, and a cold wind chased them down the street with a new ferocity. He realised the house in front of which the apparition now stood was none other than his childhood home. He closed his eyes. The scent of spilt coffee was still strong in his nose. Somehow he felt comforted. How strange.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story. Kudos and comments will be much appreciated.


End file.
